


Blessed Ships

by Rasiaa



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Superstition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25280302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rasiaa/pseuds/Rasiaa
Summary: "Mathias wakes the next morning alone, freezing, and facing the bad omen of rain.A lifetime's worth of training has allowed him to distance himself from the situation, but as a result he's numb to it and he's not sure if it's better or worse.His husband could be dead, and he can't even begin to connect to that reality. It's not true, but he knows it could be. There's a high possibility. Too high."Or, Mathias plays the waiting game and finds that there's some truth to old wives' tales. Scary truths.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 4
Kudos: 76





	Blessed Ships

**Author's Note:**

> don't like the title, don't like the summary, don't like the ending (gee, that's a common theme, isn't it?) but I like the rest so I'll post it.

Mathias is not superstitious by nature.

Several of his agents are; they swear up and down by certain necklaces, pieces of armor, prayers to the Light or to Elune before any mission. That's fine; whatever helps the job get done. He doesn't care one way or another.

For all the superstition among his agents, however, he's never seen people as superstitious as the Kul Tirans.

It's bad luck--in fact an almost guaranteed storm, attack, or drowning--for someone to sail without a tidesage on the ship. Star moss must be present at every special event lest they anger the spirits of the dead. All materials used in ships must be blessed for trips to the sea before they can be used.

There are others, of course, but these are the ones that get under his skin the most often.

Flynn is generally the reason for it; he's especially sensitive to superstition and the will of the fates. He will not, under any circumstance, get on a ship without a tidesage and so this makes so many missions more of a hassle.

The one time he got on a ship without a tidesage, Mathias had spent a little over a week out of his mind with worry and grief, thanks to yet another superstition.

(for it turns out your spouse's culture rubs off on you after enough time; who'd have thought.)

...

In the nature of secrecy, Mathias rarely is at the docks to see Flynn leave.

It's an often enough occurrence, but Flynn's antsy about this trip for some reason.

Mathias watches Flynn pack and unpack and then pack again for an hour at a careful distance before he can't take it anymore. He puts aside the reports from Renzik and reaches across the bed to catch Flynn's hands. He's alarmed to notice they're shaking. "What's wrong?" he asks.

Flynn stares at their hands for several long moments. "Flynn?" Mathias prompts.

"It's an Alliance ship," he says eventually.

Mathias furrows his eyebrows and tugs. Flynn climbs willingly into the bed and curls into Mathias's side with only a little more prompting. "What's wrong with an Alliance ship?" he asks, wrapping his arm around Flynn's waist.

"...well, they're not blessed, are they? Not by the Tidemother. Or a tidesage."

Flynn turns and presses his face to Mathias's hair, sighing. Mathias knows of Flynn's attachment to Kul Tiran ships, but he hadn't imagined it would be for this reason. "I can't help that, Flynn," he says gently. "It's the only vessel properly equipped to handle a possible ambush."

The Alliance has taken advantage of having an experienced sea captain marry their spymaster, and so a lot of the missions Flynn goes on is just transportation for important Alliance agents and nobles. This one, however, is going very close to the Echo Isles off the coast of Durotar. To not prepare for a Horde ambush would be foolish at best and downright insane at worst. Many Kul Tiran ships could handle such a mission, but all of them are currently elsewhere; namely, providing Alliance troops with vital supplies at the warfront.

"I know," Flynn murmurs, and there's a soft, lost note to the words that makes Mathias's heart clench.

He brings their hands up and presses a kiss to Flynn's wedding ring. "They'll make sure nothing happens," he says, and it's such an unreliable promise to make. They both know it but Flynn nods regardless, taking in a deep breath. "They're some of the best sailors in the world, Flynn; it'll be alright."

"Yes, of course."

They go to bed early that night.

...

Mathias wakes the next morning alone, freezing, and facing the bad omen of rain.

It's slightly before dawn, which means Flynn should still be in Stormwind. There are very few places he could be within the city at this hour, but enough--however, Mathias has a feeling he knows where the man went.

Enough Kul Tirans live in Stormwind these days that a few shops have opened that cater to certain cultural practices. All of them keep sea stalks in stock. There's one in Old Town, not far from their home, and Flynn regularly visits for a variety of reasons, not always to buy something; but sea stalks are a common purchase, given how often he leaves for open waters.

Mathias keeps the flowers in the kitchen, generally. He can see them in the morning and the evening when he's making food and that's enough. He's never sure what to think of the flowers, truthfully; the magic they possess is potent enough to make him pause. Flynn showed him, once, what happens when the stalks get hit with salt water--the flowers wilted immediately and were sapped of color. To date, Mathias hasn't seen anything else like it.

Sure enough, Flynn comes back with two dozen sea stalks about ten minutes later. Mathias is still contemplating leaving the bed at that point; facing the cold floor is incredibly unappealing.

He looks at Flynn and gets up, cold floor or no--his husband looks one moment away from breaking.

Flynn's upset is unsettling--he's usually sure and upbeat, ready with a smile and witty remark. If anything, it's usually Flynn who has to do the cheering up--too many blood-soaked nights wears on the mind and after decades of it, there are nights where he can hardly breathe. Mathias rarely sees Flynn like this, and the few times he has, it's always led to disaster in one form or another. Heart in his throat, he walks over to Flynn and gently takes the herbs, laying them on the bed behind him.

He's not sure what to say, what to do, so he just pulls Flynn close and holds on tight. Flynn somehow manages to fold into his embrace with a sigh. "I love you," Mathias whispers. "Never doubt it."

"The one surety now," Flynn answers. "I'm sorry. I know this is stupid."

"You're allowed to be nervous," Mathias says, trying to avoid pointing out that it is kind of stupid. "But remember this is a heavily guarded ship and these are Stormwind's finest. You'll be fine."

Flynn presses a kiss to his temple. "I know. I know that. Just hard to let go of childhood beliefs."

"That's okay."

"You don't have this problem," Flynn says, like it's some sort of shortcoming to be anything other than emotionless and detached to missions.

"I'm not..." _unafraid, sometimes even unwilling to die._ He cuts himself off before he says that. He knows better. Even the most cold hearted of his agents balk at such talk. He knows Flynn would lose it, and he feels awful enough already. Best not add to it. "...like most people," he eventually settles on. "I'm trained to not believe such things. It doesn't mean it isn't real to you."

Flynn scoffs gently and presses another kiss to the side of his head. "You just believe in logic," he says.

Mathias just sighs. "I'm no good at this, Flynn. You'll be okay, you know. It doesn't matter what I believe, or whether one of us is right or wrong here--"

"Hey, that's okay," Flynn interrupts, and pulls back to look Mathias in the eye. "I know you're just trying to help."

"Lot of good it seems to be doing," Mathias mutters distastefully. He reaches up and runs his thumb over Flynn's cheekbone. It's slightly damp, and Mathias isn't sure if it's from the rain hitting the windows or from tears.

"I don't want you to be good at this," Flynn says, taking his hand. He twines their fingers together. "I don't want you to have an opportunity to practice."

"Wh--I don't want to, either," Mathias says, and sighs again, leaning his forehead on Flynn's collarbone. "I just..." _want to help you; I don't want you sad; don't want you hurt. How can I help?_ The words get stuck in his throat. He's never been good at emotional confrontation. Flynn needs to hear it, sometimes, but it's one thing that Mathias continually fails to give. Flynn's better at it. Not great, mind, but better.

Maybe Flynn hears it anyway. "Will you come to the docks today?" he asks, squeezing his hand.

He has a meeting at the same time Flynn is due to leave. He can't.

"Of course," he says anyway.

...

Some of Flynn's unease seems to disappear as they get closer to the docks. By the time they actually get there, he's in a normal mood--at least to those watching. Mathias sees the tightness around his eyes and it hurts to see. He's done all he knows to do to help.

Jes-Tereth is going to be on this ship as well. It increases Mathias's surety in the safety, but for Flynn does nothing at all.

"Thank you for coming with me," Flynn says again, for what has to be the hundredth time since they left the apartment.

"Darling, it's fine. I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be."

"Still," Flynn says, and watches the crew get the sails ready while others load some last minute supplies onto the deck to be brought below. He sighs loudly after a minute and turns to face Mathias. "Think of me while I'm gone?"

"I always do," Mathias answers, a bit baffled by the request. Flynn just smiles at him, looking more like himself than he has for the past day.

"Fairwind!"

They both look to see Jes-Tereth waving impatiently. Mathias nods at her and grabs Flynn's hands to get his attention. It works; Flynn turns back around, questioning. "Good luck," Mathias says. The smile returns to Flynn's face and he nods.

"Thank you," he says--again, by the Light--and then just rolls his eyes at whatever look crosses Mathias's face. "Love you."

With that, he leaves Mathias standing there, watching silently as he climbs onto the ship with shaking hands that grip the rails of the boarding platform a bit too tightly.

Mathias has to leave the moment the ship departs. He'd delayed the meeting, but if he lingers much longer it'll be a mess.

He puts Flynn's superstitions out of his mind and tries not to start counting the minutes until Flynn comes home.

...

It's not easy to spend all day in his office without knowing how Flynn is doing. As a result, half the sea stalk flowers end up in a basket on his desk. He ignores the curious and confused staring the pink petals receive. Only Renzik is able to ignore them completely; he's one of the few that knows about he and Flynn in the first place.

It's during one of the meetings a few days later with a couple of new recruits that everything goes wrong.

"...and as a result, you'll be expected to--"

"Master Shaw?" a young man interrupts abruptly. Mathias shuts his mouth and turns to stare at him, unamused. It's a rare thing that people interrupt him for any reason, so this better be good.

"What?" he barks, after a sufficient amount of time watching the recruit cower under his gaze. The man flinches but points to the basket of flowers.

"Are those magical?" he asks.

Mathias looks over sharply, heart in his throat. The only thing that could prompt such a question--

He turns just in time to watch the last of the flowers wither and die.

"You're all dismissed," he says, still staring at the flowers. They're darkening steadily.

"Sir--?"

"Go!" he snaps, and hears them leave, muttering amongst themselves.

Once he's sure they're all gone--they're too untrained to linger outside the door without him knowing about it--he scrambles for his communicator, which is in a locked drawer in his desk. His hands tremble just slightly at first before he gets himself under control, forcing the emotions down. Flynn needs him to be level-headed, not a nervous wreck over some flowers.

He turns the device on and fiddles with it, until it connects to Jes-Tereth. "Admiral?" he demands, but there's no answer. He waits for several minutes.

Swearing, he reconnects it to Wyrmbane. "Commander," he says.

"Spymaster?" Wyrmbane answers immediately. "What is it?"

"Do you have communication with Jes-Tereth?" he asks, again having to force down rising panic.

"I haven't checked. One moment."

The connection cuts off. Mathias sinks into his chair and watches it, waiting for the green light to turn back on. He prays it's to Jes-Tereth, but knows that's unlikely.

The sea stalks hit open water. Flynn is far too careful to keep them away from windows and doors in order to avoid that outcome at all costs. Even during a storm, he packs them away into a bag of some kind, bound into fresh water.

Something happened. He hopes it was some careless deckhand, not briefed on the importance of the stalks. He hopes that they just fell overboard anyway.

The communicator clicks back on. Wyrmbane says, "No signal can be reached. We're getting our agents to track the movements of the ship immediately."

"Good," Mathias says. "Make sure I get a report."

"I will," Wyrmbane says, but the communicator stays on for another moment. "Shaw--he'll be okay."

Meaningless platitudes. How mundane. "Yes, thank you," Mathias replies, and cuts the connection.

He spends several minutes in silence, staring at the now black, brittle flowers. A lifetime's worth of training has allowed him to distance himself from the situation, but as a result he's numb to it and he's not sure if it's better or worse.

His husband could be dead, and he can't even begin to connect to that reality. It's not true, but he knows it could be. There's a high possibility. Too high.

He's not sure how much time has passed before he hears a knock at the door. He lifts his head and finds Renzik stepping into his office. He's looking through some paperwork.

"I wanted to run this by you," he says. Clearly no one has told him anything yet. "There's some new information about--" He looks up and stops talking. His eyes are fixed on the flowers. Mathias watches him struggle for a moment, clearly out of his depth. "Shaw--"

"Don't," Mathias says. "Don't tell me it'll be okay, or anything along those lines. I don't want to hear it."

Renzik nods, hesitating. "I'll get some agents to look into it?" he offers. Mathias sighs and waves his hand to give permission. Renzik looks distinctly uncomfortable with the dismissal, and Mathias can't blame him; they've worked together a long time and it's usually more relaxed than this. Renzik sets the papers on the desk and takes his leave.

Mathias stares at the papers, and then at the flowers again, and then at the back of his eyelids as he closes his eyes and presses his face into his hands, elbows on his knees.

...

He gets absolutely nothing done for the rest of the day.

He takes the flowers home, pointedly not looking at them, and sets them on the table next to the door when he walks inside.

He's not hungry but knows he has to eat something, so he heads in the direction of the kitchen and freezes in the threshold as he remembers there are also sea stalk flowers in here. He takes a deep breath and heads into the kitchen. His eyes are drawn to their basket automatically despite himself, and he freezes again when he sees that while the majority of those flowers are dead, there are several that aren't. They seem brighter than ever next to their black counterparts, the highlights sharp even as the sun sets.

Tentatively, he walks over, eyes fixated on the live flowers.

Most of them are dead.

Four of them are not.

Somehow, four stalks missed open water.

It could mean anything. Maybe the majority fell out of the ship. Maybe there is actually a problem but Flynn managed to save these four, and he's still alive. Maybe they just got caught in the remains of the ship and it's still the worst case scenario. Maybe everything is fine and Flynn's just a drunken idiot, which would be the best case scenario--if that's true, Mathias will have _words_ with him when he comes home. Deep down he knows this isn't true. Flynn isn't that careless. Even blackout drunk, he knows Mathias, always has. He knows what the flowers mean.

Carefully, Mathias takes the flowers and walks into the bedroom, placing them on the dresser.

He spends the night trying to make out their shape in the darkness instead of sleeping.

...

"Go home."

"Excuse me?" Mathias demands.

Wyrmbane doesn't budge. He's standing in front of the SI:7 building with his arms crossed. "You heard me. Go home."

"For the love of-- _why_?"

"We will get a report to you on Jes-Tereth's ship as soon as it's available. In the meantime, there isn't anything here that Renzik and I can't handle for you. Go home."

Going home sounds like a terrible idea, danger to the Alliance aside. He doesn't know if he could take another several hours--possibly days, if the look on the commander's face is anything to go by--just staring at the four remaining flowers in a dead silence. He'd lose his mind.

"No," he says.

"That's not up for debate, Spymaster. I technically outrank you, so I'll make it an order if I have to."

Mathias doesn't want to sound like a child, but he knows he fails as he says, "I really don't want to."

"You won't get anything done, Shaw. You're liable to even miss something in this state. We can't afford that, so _go home_. Or just wander Stormwind, for all I care. Just don't be here."

He scoffs, but he knows Wyrmbane is right. The last thing they need is him issuing some order incorrectly or signing off on paperwork that has mistakes. "Fine," he bites out, making sure Wyrmbane is aware that this isn't a peaceful agreement.

Wyrmbane just rolls his eyes and shoos him away, like he's incapable of finding the exit of the base he's basically grown up in. Honestly. One incident and suddenly he's useless.

Granted, it's no small incident. The idea of having 'widower' stamped on his file isn't appealing, but it's what he has to work with at the moment. It's not the first time he's lost people close to him, and, unbidden, Edwin comes to mind--a fate that was, in Mathias's mind, a bit worse than death. He pushes those thoughts away, too, and vanishes into the alley just outside SI:7, heading for the lake.

...

For several hours, he just listens to the birds above him and the rustle of the trees as the wind runs through the leaves. It's a peaceful scene but the turmoil still wages in his mind. Old hurts have reopened in the wake of Wyrmbane's argument. He doesn't watch the water on the lake--the sun's a bit blinding, anyway--since he's apparently keen on torturing himself, he watches various people duck in and out of the cemetery. The orphan matron leads a few children to a few of the graves, and that's when he looks away. War isn't fun, and if it's claimed Flynn, too--

Well. He can't keep going down this road.

He just barely stops himself from flinching when there's a loud explosion in the Dwarven District, and a lot of yelling. This isn't an unusual occurrence, of course, but he hasn't been down here lately.

He stands and figures he might as well do something, and cleaning up after whatever the dwarfs and gnomes have done this time isn't the worst thing he could be doing.

When he gets there it's still fairly chaotic, and many of the newer residents of Stormwind are clearly disturbed--they're easy to pick out from the locals just for that reason. There's a small fire near the tram. It looks like they've already put one out by the blacksmiths, and there are a lot of people just standing around the bank, staring. A gnome scowls at them, but in true anything-taller-than-a-gnome fashion, their faces show that it doesn't have much effect.

He sighs.

"Are ye here ta gawk, too, or are ye gonna help, here?"

Mathias looks down at the very angry dwarf that just stalked up to him. "Show me what you want me doing," he says, and the dwarf calms a bit, gesturing for him to follow.

He spots the source of the commotion as they go around the blacksmith. Just beyond, a couple of Kul Tirans are arguing with a cluster of gnomes and mechagnomes over a hunk of smoking metal in the river.

"It's illogical to believe that your technology is any better than ours because of fake spell work--" one mechagnome says imperiously, in what Mathias has learned is their natural attitude toward life in general.

Still, he winces as he hears the sentence, and sure enough the Kul Tiran couple becomes enraged by the statement. "You listen here, you metallic piece of--" the woman starts, standing taller than the Alliance guard trying to stop her, pointing her finger at the gnomes.

"Excuse me," Mathias says loudly. The dwarf looks at him like he's insane, but jerks his attention elsewhere when the tram fire roars back to life. He hurries off and Mathias steps smoothly between the gnomes and the Kul Tirans.

"The hell do you want?" the man says angrily. "Let my wife teach them a lesson they clearly haven't learned on their plastic island."

"Plastic?!" the gnomes chorus indignantly.

"Enough," Mathias snaps. "What is going on, exactly?"

"What right do you have?" the man snaps back.

"Quite a bit, actually," the guard interjects, and then backs down when everyone rounds on him. "Just saying, don't piss him off."

"Yes, thank you. Head back to your post."

"Yes sir," the guard salutes, and walks back to the tunnel leading to the Keep.

Mathias returns his attention to the situation at hand. "I'll repeat: _what is going on_?"

"We commissioned the gnomes here to make a small fishing boat for the lake, here--" the woman says, gesturing in the general direction of the lake, "--and we provided the materials. Even fishing boats need to be blessed by tidesages, you know, and these materials were. They took it upon themselves to 'upgrade them to proper standards.'" She glares at the gnomes, who glare back, unrepentant.

By the Light, this was going to follow him everywhere, wasn't it?

He turns to the gnomes. "Do everyone a favor and just do as your commissioner wants, why don't you?" He glances to the side before he can stop himself, to the smoking metal, and wonders if this is what happened to Flynn's ship, too. He can't bear the thought.

"It wasn't practical--"

"Practical or no, respect other people," he snaps. Then he sighs. "Just... run along, before I decide to fine you for the disturbance. Learn from this. We're a new Alliance, nowadays, and we have to learn to get along. That means letting things like this go, regardless of whether or not you think it's illogical." He turns to the Kul Tirans. "I'll replace your materials. Try not to get into a fistfight in Stormwind--it might be allowed in the edges of Boralus, but it is prohibited here."

The Kul Tirans scowl at the last statement. "Fine," the woman says, and then, "Thank you," as an afterthought.

He nods at them, knowing that's as good as he'll get. He turns back to the gnomes, who scowl at him as well. "Get this cleaned up, all of you," Mathias finishes, and points to the metal, now barely smoking anymore.

Their scowls get worse, but Mathias is familiar with the expression and it doesn't faze him. He raises his eyebrows and they get to work. He glances to the tram, gladly noting the fire there is extinguished. The dwarf watched this altercation from a distance, clearly, because when their eyes meet again the dwarf gives him a salute. Mathias nods at him and turns, making sure the guard knows to get information from the Kul Tirans regarding the materials and to forward it to him at SI:7.

That done, he crosses the bridge into Old Town and heads home through the darkening streets.

...

The four flowers are still alive. He falls into an unsteady sleep looking at them.

...

Waking up a week later, he's not much better off. He gets ready for the day in a haze--logically he knows this is dangerous, that he needs to be on guard always--but he doesn't care.

There has been no communication from Jes-Tereth, nor from anyone else.

The reality that Flynn is gone is more and more pressing, and he's losing traction against it. Wyrmbane hasn't allowed him back to work, so bar the first day when he dealt with the mess in the Dwarven District, he's spent each day in the small, unnoticeable alcove just above his apartment. It overlooks the majority of Old Town and is backed by the mountains and so is pretty safe. Safe enough for him to lose himself in memories of he and Flynn, anyway.

He twirls his wedding ring around and around his finger until it starts to burn slightly, and then keeps doing it because it's better than feeling nothing at all.

Eight days after the flowers withered before his eyes, he spots one of his agents making her way in the general direction of his apartment. All of his high ranking agents know an approximate location, just in case, but not exact, so she gets into the vicinity of the road and stops.

Carefully, he climbs down onto the street and meets her at the end. "What is it?" he asks blandly. Unless it's about Flynn, good news or bad, he's not sure how much energy he could give anything else.

"Wyrmbane gave this to me for you," she says. "Something about the Admiral of the Alliance navy."

She hands him a notice and he takes it without acknowledging her, tearing it open right there.

_Located. Alive, but wounded. Awaiting extraction. Give it another day._

Alive.

Flynn's alive.

He feels like he could faint from relief, so he quickly dismisses the agent and waits for her to leave before he makes his way back into his apartment. He goes straight to the bedroom and picks up one of the flowers. The petals are soft between his fingers, and it sends him over the edge for some reason, and he sinks to the floor and tries to breathe.

This past week has been a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. To learn that Flynn's alive is almost too much to take.

He wonders about the injuries, if Flynn is still in danger from them or not. He wonders what happened--to the ship, to the crew, to Flynn. Were they near the Echo Isles? Was this Horde or not? He doesn't know.

Light help him, he doesn't know.

...

When he's allowed to see Flynn the following evening, he's relieved to hear that he is one of the ones who is better off. Others lost their lives, many more have deep wounds or head injuries that are severe enough for worry.

Flynn is asleep when Mathias is shown to his room in the barracks. "Mild concussion and a deep cut on his side that we've managed to stitch up," the priest tells him. He nods absently, making his way to Flynn's side. His breath is steady and his hand is warm when Mathias twines their fingers. "He was awake when he got here, so we're not too worried about the concussion. Nevertheless, I'd advise to wake him in about twenty minutes for the hourly check."

"Alright," he agrees, and the priest closes the door when he leaves.

There are a few very shallow cuts on his face that have already scabbed over. It looks like he had a black eye, but it's mostly faint bruising now, and Mathias can see the still-dark mark on his forehead that caused the concussion.

The sea stalks are in a vase next to the bed, in a shallow amount of fresh water.

Mathias lets out a slow breath, leaning his forehead on the bed. "You scared the life out of me," he whispers. He lifts his head and reaches with his free hand to brush the hair out of Flynn's face. Flynn leans into the touch even in his sleep, which makes Mathias smile slightly. It disappears quickly.

He spends several minutes in silence, somehow convinced that Flynn could still slip away even though the injuries are not that severe. It's about fifteen minutes too early for Mathias to wake Flynn, but he decides to do it anyway, desperate for reassurance. Fifteen minutes won't kill him anyway; he oversleeps often enough when they're home that he'll make it up soon.

"Flynn," he calls, and gently runs his fingers through Flynn's hair.

It takes a moment, but Flynn does stir, eyes faintly unfocused for a second, searching the ceiling, before clarity returns and he looks over. A smile crosses his face the moment their eyes meet, then he groans and reaches up to rub his forehead, eyes closing.

"Headache?" Mathias guesses, certain.

Flynn huffs a laugh. "Right as always, darling." He opens his eyes again. "By the Tides, I thought I'd never see you again," he breathes, gaze roaming over Mathias's face.

"I thought the same," Mathias admits, "I didn't want to, but the longer we went without a word..."

"I'm sorry," Flynn says. "Jes-Tereth's communicator was lost to the sea. One of your agents found us near Ratchet, on a small island. Too far to swim there, though, especially with the storms."

"What happened?" he asks, confused as to why Flynn was near Ratchet at all. The meeting place was in Azshara, far north of Ratchet.

"You were right that we'd need a ship that could withstand an ambush," Flynn murmurs, blinking slowly. He tries to say more but can't seem to get the words out, the concussion obviously making itself known again.

"You can tell me later," Mathias says, "You need to rest."

Flynn eyes him for a second, then shifts to the side. "I'd rather do that with you here," he answers, lifting the blanket. Mathias shakes his head slightly but climbs into the bed regardless, resting his head on Flynn's shoulder with one arm around Flynn's waist. Flynn wraps his arm around Mathias in turn, then drifts off again.

Finally, Mathias feels like he can breathe again.

**Author's Note:**

> I might add more to this later. It doesn't feel done yet somehow but at the same time I don't know what else it needs.
> 
> (Also, Shadows Rising... thank you for giving me that, blizz, seriously, even beyond the Fairshaw content. Leave a comment if you want my thoughts on it--I don't want to spoil anything for those who haven't read it yet.)


End file.
